


The Candlebark Letters

by solacefruit



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Epistolary, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 18,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solacefruit/pseuds/solacefruit
Summary: There is a new letter in the mailbox this morning, from a friend half a world away.The envelope is heavy parchment as always and sealed with a dab of wax, a dark and shiny holly-leaf green. The postage stamp is different than usual, though: this time, it’s from Galar.Inside, the letter reads:My dear friend,So begins a year of fieldwork. I hope you are ready to hear all about it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. welcomed, Postwick

March 3rd,  
_evening_. 

  
  


My dear friend, 

So begins a year of fieldwork. I hope you are ready to hear all about it. 

As I’m sure you can guess, I’ve arrived safely in Postwick. I’m actually writing to you in this moment from the very welcome comfort of my host-family’s house, with my bag still on the floor and all my travel papers dumped onto the bed. They’re very kindly lending me this room for this next couple of weeks while I get myself settled in Galar, as a favour for Professor Magnolia. 

I haven’t had a chance to really look around the town yet, given that the boat docked quite late in the day and it’s already dark outside now, but that’s the plan for tomorrow—so expect another letter soon after this one! (I hope you won’t come to regret jumping into this whole pen pal thing with me, but honestly? Much too late for that, _ha_ ).

But, to be serious for a moment (before I surely fall asleep where I’m sitting), it’s hard to believe I’m here and this is finally happening. I know we’ve talked about it so much already while I was studying, but it’s another thing to be looking at this year of hands-on research and training unfolding before me and knowing that, when I’m done, I’m more or less going to be a fully-fledged professor myself—albeit a _very_ early career one. 

You asked me in your last letter if I was nervous, and truthfully the answer is: a little. I know that I’ll be able to do what’s needed on this journey, but there’s always a tiny voice in the back of your head whispering that what if it’s harder than you’re ready for, you know? 

We’ll just have to find out together. Until next time, take care. 

Yours sincerely, 

Ezra.

  
  
  


_Ezra Candlebark,_  
_2 Hillcrest way,_  
_Postwick,  
_ _Galar._


	2. lightning in the fields, Postwick

March 5th,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend,

I’ve settled comfortably into Postwick now, which is perhaps helped by the fact there isn’t a lot of Postwick to settle into! At a brisk pace, you can walk around the heart of town in a cool twenty minutes at most, and it is very much the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. In that sense, it reminds me a lot of home. Many of the families living in this part of the world have been here for (quite literally) countless generations, tending to the land, and I’m certain if I sat down with some of the older ladies for tea, I could find out the who’s who of the entire southern end of Galar in one afternoon—but that is not what I am here to do (unfortunately, because I do so love the gossip of old farm women), so I will with some difficulty refrain! 

The family hosting me was kind enough to give me all of yesterday to explore the town at my leisure, but there’s no such thing as a reward without work around here, so this morning—very, _very_ early this morning—they got me up with them to move the wooloo flock into the lower paddocks. It wasn’t particularly hard work, especially since the wooloo themselves are for the most part very docile and happy to oblige, tumbling their way over the short grass in great bleeting clouds, but it puts into perspective the sort of endless nature of their work. From herding, to shearing, to cleaning, to sending the sorted fleeces around the entire region as needed. Postwick is in fact the primary provider of all wool textiles in Galar, as well as a significant source of crop produce for the region. Without Postwick, Galar would in all likelihood perish, naked and hungry.

Despite all this, everyone I’ve met so far is humble and very generous, both with their time and what they have. Perhaps the greatest point of pride for the town at the moment, as I learned yesterday, is that the current Champion of Galar’s league comes from Postwick; his family lives actually very nearby to where I’m staying. He’s supposedly coming back to visit soon, so it may be that we cross paths when I meet with Professor Magnolia in the next few days. She sent an invite this morning for me to drop by “at my earliest convenience,” so it sounds like I ought to get myself over to Wedgehurst swift-like. 

It’s already gotten dark this evening and as I write to you, I’m sitting up by the house, looking down the knoll at some of the nearer fields. They use yamper and boltund as guards and herders around here, plus the occasional manectric, so in the evenings, you can see them working out there in the dark, leaving long streaks of light as they race through the paddocks, like escaped firecrackers, like stray fragments of lightning somehow gotten loose from above. It’s surprisingly beautiful, even if it does leave a funny trace over your eyes when you look away. 

It’s quiet and lovely, sitting alone and watching the world like this, but I’ve been thinking tonight about my need for some travelling companions of my own on this journey, as there’s no way I can do this alone—or would want to, truthfully. I’m hoping that the professor can help me there. I’ll let you know more once I see her—but I’ll admit, I have a good feeling already! Write you again soon.

Yours sincerely,

Ezra. 

  
  


_Ezra Candlebark,_  
_2 Hillcrest way,_  
_Postwick,  
Galar. _


	3. a friend in conservation, Postwick

March 9th,  
_evening_. 

  
  


My dear friend, 

I suppose I should start with the biggest news, and dwindle from there? 

I am now the carer of a little grookey, compliments of the Regional Board of Conservation! This very timely miracle came about through Professor Magnolia’s contacts at the research institute: she had apparently registered me ahead of time as a potential custodian and the Board has decided to agree with her. (Frankly, what a flattering thing to do. I’m touched).

Anyway, the point is, my problem of finding a first companion has been solved for me! I’m allowed to take care of this grookey, on the condition that the Board receives regular updates on his well-being. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Galarian species and conservation law? The law at least is very similar to ours: certain lines considered particularly at risk of displacement from the region—or even outright extinction—are given to trustworthy trainers as a way to keep them protected (and monitored) without having to quarantine them off from the rest of the world in a sanctuary somewhere. Thankfully, it’s not something that needs to happen often, but there are a few species in Galar that are getting the Board’s full attention.

Grookey (and its familial line) is one of them. It’s a close relative of pansage, believed to have been brought to Galar well over a hundred years ago but never fully naturalised the way some other species have, due to the absence of immense forest across most of the region. The tiny wild communities of this line are limited to far off pockets of deep woodland, and there’s been concerns that they might vanish entirely eventually without further research. The nice news is that there’s already progress: something like a dozen or more trainers last year adopted a grookey, as I just have, and that’s double what it was the previous year. 

History lesson aside, this has been a great turn for me. I’ve spent the last few days getting to know this little fellow a bit better, and he seems to like me too, which is a relief! I’ve taken to calling him Balter, which I like for two reasons: the first being, it suits him, since he’s a cheerful lad with a lot of energy—but not necessarily a lot of coordination just yet—and the second being, it’s an easy thing to call out every other minute as he’s getting into something he shouldn’t. I think the newness of the situation is still very much a novelty for him, but already he seems to be calming down a little? He’s been happy to lie back and watch as I write to you, which is an improvement. (Yesterday, he kept nicking the pen off me; hence why you’re a little late getting this news).

I haven’t yet managed to meet with Professor Magnolia, though. It was actually the Champion who met me in Postwick with Balter, since he was coming this way already. Apparently part of his work is doing awareness campaigns for the Board and other major caretaking efforts, in addition to sponsoring new league challengers and typical Champion duties, which I think is nice! I’ll admit, I initially thought a lot of the big-name league trainers were mostly battle-mad and a little… self-absorbed, maybe? But I’m very happy to be wrong.

As you can probably guess, I’m a little worn out from the excitement of the last few days, so I’ll leave it here and write to you again once I finally— _finally—_ meet with Professor Magnolia. It’s about an hour or so walk from Postwick to Wedgehurst, so depending on the weather, I might head out that way tomorrow. We’ve been getting a lot of spring showers this week and I haven’t got myself a good coat. I’ll put that on my list to do as well. 

Hope all is well with you,

Ezra. 

  
  
  


_Ezra Candlebark,_  
_2 Hillcrest way,_  
_Postwick,  
Galar_. 


	4. researchers together, Wedgehurst

March 11th,  
_morning_. 

My dear friend,

I finally got myself into Wedgehurst yesterday, after about a week of talking about it. I set off in the morning with Balter on one shoulder and a little bag I loaned from my host family over the other, since my own luggage is roughly the size and shape of a refrigerator. It’s that old trunk-like thing that used to be my grandfather’s, if I mentioned that to you? My mum gave it to me a few months ago when I finally found out I would be coming to Galar for real, and don’t get me wrong: I’m very grateful about that. It’s perfect for this trip, especially since you _know_ I’m going to be filling it with all kinds of trinkets and bits and pieces I find along the way—which _some_ could say is an unwise move, but alas. I know myself. For better or worse. 

Anyway! It was lovely and clear skied yesterday, so we headed off on the walk from Postwick to Wedgehurst to meet with Professor Magnolia at the Research Lab—she’s one of the senior researchers there—but unfortunately it was her day off, which when you think about it is typical. Definitely not a wasted journey, though! I was still able to get my dex updated with Galar’s system at the lab—by none other than Sonia, which was a very pleasant surprise. I hadn’t realised she’d be in town when I got here: I thought we’d have to carefully triangulate our respective journeys to meet up somewhere along the line. 

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned Sonia to you before? But I am also very aware that I mention an awful lot of people, and not always a lot of detail, so if you can’t remember anything about her, please feel free to blame me for that. She’s Professor Magnolia’s granddaughter, if that rings a bell at all. She’s also in that same odd space I am, over halfway through finishing her studies and looking to graduate to full professorship. 

We met at a conference on folklore in Heahea City about two years ago and stayed in touch since, that way that researchers-in-training do: emailing each other articles we think the other will find interesting, congratulating each other on any and all publications (however small), and generally being very absent-minded pen pals, both on paper and in the online space. So it goes! But it was great to catch up with her today and hear about what she’s been doing. She mentioned she’s got a manuscript in the works, which is brilliant, but has unfortunately been having a little bit of a rough time with her grandmother. 

I feel for her. On one hand, I’ve always envied academic families a little; how wonderful, I always thought, to have family to help guide you through things, to really understand what it is you do, to share this big part of your life with and know you’re all on the same page. It seems like a dream, being able to sit around a table and discuss your work together.

But on the other, I understand how it would be difficult as well. Professor Magnolia particularly is greatly respected, even renowned, in Galar, and Sonia has found that a bit of a challenging legacy to contend with. Not to mention, it sounds like Professor Magnolia herself expects _a lot_ from Sonia—perhaps a little unfairly. It was funny, to think of how our lives are flipped: _my_ nan doesn’t understand a bit of what I’m doing most of the time, but she’s glad I’m happy—although I don’t doubt she’s out there wondering what went wrong that I’m not out riding mudsdale and herding tauros like her and my father, and uncle, and cousins. None of my family studied much, so I don’t get any hassle from them about living up to a legacy, but they also can’t relate to my work the way Sonia’s can. I’m not sure I’d change anything, if I could, but it’s certainly interesting to think about.

We lost track of time talking, so I ended up travelling home just as it was turning dusk. The route between Wedgehurst and Postwick is a pleasant one to walk and not taxing at all, despite the length. It was nice to listen to the warbling bleats of the wooloo in the paddocks either side of the path, and once or twice I caught the flash of a nickit’s eyes in the lamplight and the dark tips of a brush tail disappear into the long grass. 

I’m heading back out that way today, right after I put this letter to you in the box. Sonia mentioned to stop by Professor Magnolia’s house if I miss her again at the lab, so that’s what I’ll do. I’d like to look about Wedgehurst some more too, since honestly most of yesterday was spent in the lab commiserating about the research assistant experience. 

Write you again soon! Until then, take care.

Yours sincerely,  
Ezra. 

_Ezra Candlebark,_  
_2 Hillcrest way,_  
_Postwick,  
Galar_.


	5. a lesson in history, Wedgehurst

March 13th,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend,

It’s been a busy few days, but in that kind of way where you don’t notice as it’s happening: I’ve just moved from one thing to another, to another, to another, then it’s evening again, and the day is gone. Happy to report it has all been good things only, though. 

I walked to Wedgehurst again yesterday, and then all the way down to Professor Magnolia’s place, like Sonia suggested I should. She lives at the very end of a lane to nowhere; her house sits on the edge of a lake called the Niblick Mere, and it’s beautiful. It’s such a peaceful little pocket of the world, sort of apart from time and the botherments of life among other people, and I can see why she chooses to work from home whenever she can. 

It is very much the kind of home I would like for myself one day. She even has a most gorgeous greenhouse (slash part-time living room) built into the side of it, to protect the less hardy plants and grass type pokemon from the brutal frosts that come around in the colder months. It’s not something we need back home, of course, but I love how it looks: the glass catches the light in such an entrancing way, almost like a temple made of carefully balanced cards of ice. There’s also some very interesting thematic architecture here, but I’ll get to that in a moment.

She invited me in for tea and a chat when I arrived, and from first impressions (in person, rather than through post), I can understand why Sonia finds her a little brusque and hard to please. She’s an austere woman, with sharp eyes and a crisp way of speaking that makes you—or at least, made me—feel a little under the magnifying glass myself. But she’s been generous and helpful in getting this trip underway since the beginning, so I think underneath the intimidating exterior, she is genuinely kind. She’s also—perhaps unsurprisingly—something of an expert in tea, which is lovely for me, as a not-quite-expert but definitely a fan! (Her cabinet for crockery alone is _immense_ and I am more than a little envious of that too). 

She made a pot of something chai-like, spicy with a brown sugar sweetness in it, and that’s when she told me this interesting bit of history I’m about to relay to you. I’d noticed there was a particular motif in the architecture of the glass room: a babiri berry, upturned, along the rooftop and at several other points. I mentioned to her that I would have expected a more elaborate flower as a decoration, but it turns out that the babiri is leftover from Galarian architecture from several centuries ago. 

Apparently, so she told me, back when trade between Alola and Galar first began, the babiri was one of several berries that Galar residents had never seen before. Because of its quality of strengthening defense against steel type, the babiri wound up earning particularly high esteem among the royal court (famously known for hitting one another with various bits of metal throughout history) and the berry garnered several new names through Galar, like the iron-apple and the macefruit. Since the aristocrats and knights were the only ones wealthy enough to afford it, it became a symbol of wealth, power, and therefore status, and there’s apparently still some family crests out there with the babiri on them scattered throughout the region. 

Of course, it’s a long time since then, but some old buildings—especially ones connected in some way to the privileged of long ago—still have the motif here and there, having weathered the centuries. I found that such an interesting piece of trivia and I’m probably going to notice babiri berries everywhere I go on this journey now. Professor Magnolia is entirely right when she said it’s important to know where things come from, to understand the relationship between _this_ and _that_ and _then_ and _now_. To realise how an otherwise common and unremarkable berry growing wild on Poni Island goes across the sea to shape an architectural style in a whole different region. It’s fascinating to notice how our world links up: a thousand tiny chains of connection, a thousand tiny ripples of influence and change. 

Despite being so perturbingly collected, the professor really grew on me throughout our chat. It’s very clear to see why Sonia looks up to her so much. Oh, and before I get side-tracked, that thought reminded me: the professor signed off on my passport for this journey, so I am now entirely and officially free to begin! How exciting is that. I was out exploring the outskirts of Wedgehurst for most of today, considering what kind of pokemon to add to this little family of mine now that I’m able to. Balter definitely needs a playmate of some kind, because there is simply too much verve in this lad. 

Anyway, I think I will leave it here for tonight, before this letter gets any more unwieldy than it is. The very best to you! 

Sincerely,   
Ezra. 

**P.S.** actually, I remembered something that happened yesterday you might find intriguing. I certainly do. There’s a forest some way out of Postwick known as the Slumbering Weald that’s considered a protected area and locked off from public access, but—as inevitably happens with out-of-bounds places—every once in a while some kids will dare each other to go in and generally be silly, rebelling for something to do. Yesterday, though, a couple of local kids got lost in there going after a wooloo (so they said) and then got brought out a few hours later chattering about some kind of monster in the forest. 

As you can imagine, that got my interest at once, so I did some asking around and it turns out this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. Every so often, people who sneak into the weald come out with more or less the same story of an inexplicable creature prowling between the trees. It’s even got a name in this area: the Beast of the Weald, although some have called it the Postwick Phantom. Everyone I’ve spoken to has said it’s almost certainly just a big arcanine out there, or perhaps an oversized liepard, and it ought to be left alone, however. There’s never been a sighting by anyone who’s been in the weald on official business, only ever those looking for a bit of trouble.

According to my host mum, it’s always the same: some kid goes off the path thinking they’re tough, gets a big fright being alone in a dark forest, and comes barrelling out of there, and always describes roughly the same thing as the rest because they’ve heard the stories and _want_ to believe there’s something uncanny afoot, so they see what they’re looking for in the shadows. Or they’re in it for the attention, so they stick to the story everyone knows and add to the legend, hoping to get a little credit and acclaim for it. Instead, she said, they always get in a whole mess of trouble for it, because the people of Postwick doesn’t like kids crying monster when there is none. They’ve even got an ancient story they tell about that around here, which you’ve probably heard before! 

I asked if anyone had actually gone looking for this creature in recent years, but she said no. Actually, she said: “Why would we? It’s not bothering anyone, except people going where they shouldn’t—if there’s anything at all, which I doubt.” Real or not, it’s such a delicious little bit of folklore. I’ll have to ask Sonia about it next time I see her. 

**P.P.S.** longest P.S. above, I know, but I _did_ warn you I love to hear all the gossip! 

_Ezra Candlebark,_  
_2 Hillcrest way,_  
_Postwick,  
_ _Galar._


	6. the family grows, Wedgehurst

March 6th,  
_morning_. 

My dear friend,

I hope you’re doing well! I certainly am. 

This morning I’m writing to you from one of the spare rooms at the research lab in Wedgehurst—as I’m sure you could guess from the address on the letter. They have a few little dorms here as temporary lodging for professors and scientists who’re passing through for conferences or staying as researchers in residence, and one just became available so Sonia said I could use it for a few days. I decided it was well and truly time for me to thank my gracious host family for their hospitality and be on my way—which brings me to the more exciting news. 

I mentioned in my last letter that I was considering adding a new pokemon to this little family, and the next day (or possibly the day after? I’m losing track), I came across the perfect one! She’s a little rookidee, one of the most common flying types in this area; I’ve seen a lot of them pecking about in the fields for spilled seeds in this past week, but hadn’t considered befriending one until she swooped us on my wanderings in the Postwick outskirts. I could tell she would be a good friend for Balter at once, though; they have similarly strong personalities! 

I’ve named her Tempest, which feels fitting. But that’s not the only news I have on the family front. We’ve gone from two to four nearly overnight, and now travelling with me is an additional—and unexpected—wooloo! She was offered to me by my host family as a half-parting gift, half-rehoming mission. 

You might be wondering what I mean and the best way to put it is: this particular wooloo has been a bit of trouble. Apparently she’s the one that broke through the fence into the Slumbering Weald the other day, but that’s only the most recent incident. They’ve promised me she’s overall a stolid, mild-tempered wooloo, except for the itty-bitty little problem of that she occasionally hauls off out of nowhere and knocks a yamper through a fence, or kicks off against the other wooloo, or, on one memorable occasion, made some interesting conceptual art out of Tilly the postwoman’s bicycle by repeatedly headbutting it into a misshapen pulp. (They had to get one wheel out of a nearby tree in the end, apparently, but it was already punctured).

So essentially, they asked if I’d like to take her with me, perhaps for protection. She’s been causing too much trouble and they haven’t known what to do with her, besides turf her out into the forest and leave her to go wild, and really that’s all it took for me to say yes. You know I have a soft heart like that; I always have a place in my life for the difficult ones and the not-quite-loved-enough. She’s been good for me so far, though! I get the feeling a journey is exactly what she needs to work off her excess energy: some pokemon have that fighting spirit, you know? But just in case, I did ask Sonia to keep an eye on her yamper when they’re playing together.

I’ve named her Tethera, since she’s the third in our little family and it felt right to call her by something from her home. I’m not sure if you know a lot about herding wooloo (I’ve certainly learned a lot more than I knew when I came to Galar), but in Postwick and the surrounds, they’ve got an old counting rhyme for keeping track of them all. 

Well, that’s not _exactly_ true. There are several rhymes, depending which family you ask! My host family counts the _yan tan tethera_ , traditionally, but other families I’ve spoken to count _aen taen tethera_ , and even _hant tant tothery_. There’s apparently over ten varieties of the rhyme spread out over the wolds in this part of the world, reaching back since the very first records of shepherding were kept. 

I’m going to use the rest of today to get to know these new friends better, and then head into town proper and start collecting the necessary supplies for the journey. I’ve decided to catch the train from here to Motostoke first, and then make my next move from there once I’ve got a better sense of the place. 

Oh, one last thing: I’ve heard that there’s sometimes Galarian zigzagoon around here and I am sorely tempted to go looking for them. I would love to study one up close for myself; they’re such an interesting line of pokemon. Befriend one and bring it with me, is that what I just imagined you to say? Well, that’s a perfect idea, I’m so glad you suggested it! 

Yours in enthusiasm,  
Ezra.

  
  
  


_Ezra Candlebark,_ _  
_ _Room 4, Research Lab,_ _  
_ _12 High Street,_  
_Wedgehurst,_ _  
Galar_.


	7. 4.50 to Motostoke, Wedgehurst

March 18,  
_morning_. 

My dear friend,

After following your very excellent advice, I am happy to announce that I have adopted a zigzagoon into the family—but not without some difficulty. It took me the best part of a full day to find and actually befriend one, as I was exactly right in my suspicions about Tethera: she took one look at every charging zigzagoon we came across and neatly punted it into a hedge, before looking around for another one to fight. So far her only talent in any battle is a single-minded willingness to run her body into whatever she’s decided is an opponent—but I will say to her credit, she’s committed to making that work for her!

Even when I did finally convince her to stop chasing them away, catching one was still not an easy matter. I went through a good few handfuls of treats—and got a bite for my trouble—before the zigzagoon warmed up to me, but in the end, it all worked out and I’d call that a success! This rascally girl brings the family up to five (myself included, of course) and that’s where I’ll be leaving us for a while, as I’d like to give them all a chance to get to know each other better before trying to introduce any more new members to the group. It would be nice if they could all get along; I’ll be sure to keep you updated on that.

I’m calling this new zigzagoon Tatterdemalion (or just Tat for short), which yes, I _know_ : it’s the third T name in a row, but I promise you I didn’t plan for that. It just fits her so well! She’s such a raggedy-looking creature, and for what it’s worth, I did find her zipping about bothering a little flock of rookidee by the side of the road, so that’s basically fate, in my opinion. I’m already very fond of her, although—much like the other three—I suspect she may be something of a handful. (Is there something about me that attracts these most mischievous of companions? Perhaps).

Besides that little adventure, all I’ve been doing for the past few days is gathering supplies to bring with me on this journey. There’s a few little shops in Wedgehurst perfect for trainers about to set out, so I’ve been going through those and picking out the most necessary bits and pieces. I’ve already got a tent and such tucked away into my cabinet of a bag, but I’ve added a bit of a dinged-up but otherwise fine second-hand kettle, a spare rug for cold weather, a sunhat (one of those big straw ones, you know the kind, a bit floppy but very good for when summer comes), a pair of thick gloves for the general getting-hands-dirty-ness of research work in the field, a bound journal for record-keeping, and about half a dozen other little things, as well as rations for myself and treats for the family. 

I picked up something new to read as well, since I’m going to have some time this evening. After I put this letter in the post to you and do my final look around the town, I’m heading out of Wedgehurst on the 4:50 to Motostoke. It’s an overnight rail, so I’ll have plenty of time for reading before I fall asleep, and should arrive in the centre of the city about six in the morning. It’s part of the longest rail line in all of Galar, connecting Wedgehurst to Wyndon, and this particular length of it curves around the full western edge of the southern wilderness. I made sure to book myself a window seat so I could look out on the view, naturally, although honestly there’s not going to be a lot to see once it gets dark. 

I’ll write again once I’m set up in Motostoke. Until then, take care!

Yours sincerely,  
Ezra.

 **P.S.** I’m leaving my address as the research lab for now. My mail will be forwarded to me in Motostoke by Sonia, so don’t worry about that. Talk soon!

  
  


_Ezra Candlebark,  
Research Lab,  
12 High Street,  
Wedgehurst,  
Galar. _


	8. sleepless city, Motostoke

March 22nd,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend,

I hope this letter finds you well! I would have written sooner, but I’ve been keeping busy here in Motostoke since the morning of my arrival and just haven’t found the time to catch you up on all the happenings of the Palace of Chimneys—one of several names I’ve heard the city called in this last week. 

Don’t get the wrong idea, though: my housing is not exactly luxurious. I’ve been staying in a tall, narrow boarding-house some way out of the city centre—although, to be entirely fair, _all_ the buildings here are wedged together with no breathing room between, and then were stacked on top of each other when they ran out of space to expand outward. It’s practically a fort of red brick, added to haphazardly over the last few centuries as the city grew in rapid bursts; there are homes and factories in equal measure crammed into every available place, sometimes side by side. 

All that said, there is still a lot of charm in the city. There is a constant thrumming of engine fires, a clanking of cogs and hissing of pistons, which altogether sounds at times like the purring and growling of a massive beast; and in certain stretches of pathway, you can feel the faint vibrations of machinery churning and whirring below, and feel as you pass by the great gushes of hot air as it bursts up from pipes and vents like breath. For somewhere so evidently, unapologetically made by human hands, Motostoke itself feels almost unnerving alive. 

It is also _very_ full of people—and of course Pokemon. The shift work of many factories means there’s always people leaving work, no matter the hour, or about to head in, so it’s not uncommon for a late-night stroll in the city’s heart to feel as bustling as midday, with the only difference being the flickering of lamplight overhead. It’s been a big adjustment from the serene spaciousness of Wedgehurst, as you can surely guess! For instance, my room in the boarding-house is only _just_ big enough for myself and the family—except for Tethera, who is a little too big and too fluffy to fit anywhere but curled up on the bed—and unfortunately the tiny writing desk is very lopsided and rickety, so I’ve not been spending much time in there when I can avoid it. 

Motostoke this time of year is even more full than usual, which is another piece of news to share with you! Without realising, I arrived in Motostoke the day before the official opening ceremony of Galar’s national league challenge. Tradition states that it always begins on the vernal equinox (March 20th, in case you were wondering), and so, as you can imagine, the city was—and still is—overflowing with competitors, their supporters (friends, family, and hardcore fans), and all manner of other spectators coming to watch that first event. You can hardly move outside for paint-splattered enthusiasts and gym challengers, but honestly I mind that a lot less than I expected.

I never really thought of myself as someone who was all that interested in the league hysteria, you know? I’m sure it’s fun for the people who’re into it, and I do have a lot of respect for the effort that goes into training and competing, but it wasn’t something I felt motivated to follow closely… until now, that is. Sonia convinced me to get a ticket to see the opening ceremony since I was here and let it be known: I think I get it now. The surging of the crowd, the cheering, the chanting, the grand spectacle of the whole thing—it _was_ fun. Gym leaders (and even some better-known or outstanding challengers) here are celebrities in a way that’s different from home, and rather than grate on me, I’ve sort of been pulled into it all.

All this to say: I got myself a season pass for the league challenge, which was another of Sonia’s suggestions. It’ll let me stop in and watch a few of the events as I travel around the region—something like four times each gym, for both major and minor league matches, which I think is decent! Also, that reminds me: get me to tell you sometime about how they run the league here. It’s pretty interesting! But this letter is already so long, so I’ll have to write you again soon—preferably on a less wobbly table and with a little more light than this old lamp! 

Yours in enthusiasm,   
Ezra. 

**P.S.** Professor Satinash is finally back from leave, I forgot to mention! I received my first official research assignment from her just today, so that’s my plan for tomorrow. Tell you about it soon.

  
_Ezra Candlebark._  
_34b Carnot Cross,_  
_Motostoke,_  
_Galar._


	9. field notes, Motostoke

March 30th,  
_morning_. 

  
  


My dear friend,

Research is progressing well. Professor Satinash has me measuring nickit for her! And I will be for the foreseeable future, as it’s all to put towards her next paper: she intends for it to be a comparative study of wild nickit and zorua, but needed someone to stat-gather for that, so yours truly is helping out. It isn’t the most difficult work in the world by any stretch but it’s certainly keeping my hands full. They’re so quick and slinky and shy, but with the family’s help—and particularly Tatterdemalion, who is _also_ very quick (debatably slinky, absolutely not shy)—it’s been possible for me to have a week’s worth of records kept already. I’m _delighted_. 

It’s been a nice rhythm we’ve gotten into: each early morning, I head out from the boarding-house with Tethera trotting at my side to this lovely little bookshop cafe I found a few days after arriving here in Motostoke. That’s where I’m writing from right now, actually, looking out onto the smoky street from the comfort of an oversized lounge chair and a fresh pot of Turffield Breakfast beside me. I’ve tried a few of the popular local teas over the last week (Hulberry Bliss, Spicemuth Chai, Ballonlea Blue—which was _such_ a strange, vibrant colour! bet you can’t guess which) but Turffield Breakfast has become my favourite for this little morning ritual. It’s got a soft ginger taste, earthy but warming all at once, and perfect for waking you up. 

The family have breakfast with me, naturally. Balter sits on the table, chittering away with me and fidgeting with my work and making it impossible to read so I gave up on that after the second day of trying; or he goes and perches up beside Tempest on the nearest bookshelf to relax together before the day begins in earnest. She is a little too dignified to play silly games with my papers, which I’m grateful for; but she _does_ occasionally decide to pinch a spoon from the table and need to be convinced to return it before we leave. Shockingly, Tatterdemalion isn’t much trouble at all either; she curls around my boots, eats whatever I pass down to her, and besides from a bit of growling if anyone gets too close, she leaves everyone else in peace (rare and precious occasion). 

Then I catch the tram to the western edge of the city, doing a little reading on the way, before walking from the final stop out of the city and down one of the paths surrounding Motostoke. Professor Satinash marked out on a map where she’d like for me to collect data from, so most of my day is spent documenting that area and catching, measuring, and then releasing each nickit we come across. Once it’s gone dark, I head back the way I came. Trouble is, nickit—like many Pokemon—are technically crepuscular in the wild, meaning they’re most active in the dusk and dawn. They’re also more active at night during the day, so I’m thinking this week coming, I might spend a night or two out camping and see if I’m able to find more after the sun goes down. It’s at least worth having an idea of how much a day-only study is skewing the information, I feel. 

Anyway, besides that, there’s not a lot to report. I’ve got at least another week of this but when I’ve got a little more down time, I’d like to explore the city a bit more, get a little more reading done, that sort of thing. On that note, did I end up telling you about what I’ve been reading lately, or did I forget about that? I feel like maybe I mentioned it and then forgot. Sorry! 

For the night rail from Wedgehurst, I picked up a copy of Jacquelyn Cho’s new verse novel, _When the Brick Breaks_ , and devoured it before I got to Motostoke. It was _that_ good. I was aware of Cho’s work before this—I’d heard of her, and I knew she was a member of the Rap on the Knuckle slam, which is a spoken word poetry movement started by mostly fighting-type specialists, if you’ve heard of it?—but I hadn’t read any of her writing before. Now I can’t wait to read _everything_ she’s done. Her work is so raw and clever and punchy (forgive the pun), and I think you might like it. 

I should probably finish off this tea and get back to the business of research. Let me know if you’ve got any recommendations for what I should read next! 

Yours sincerely,   
Ezra.

  
  
  


_Ezra Candlebark.  
34b Carnot Cross,  
Motostoke,  
Galar. _


	10. a charming find, Motostoke

April 7th,  
_midday_.

My dear friend,

The second week of recording went better than expected, although not _entirely_ as planned—by which I mean, the family has grown again. Not, as you might reasonably expect, with a nickit, but a vulpix! 

I first noticed him—or he noticed us—early in the first week, but he didn’t get close enough for me to be sure it was the same creature each time. He lurked in the long grass, curious and watchful, getting closer and closer until he was nearly sitting on my bag whenever my back was turned. I think once he realised we were safe, he got _a lot_ braver, nosing his way through my pack if I left it unlocked (learned not to do that after he made off with a mouthful of berries) or trying to lure Balter and Tatterdemalion away to play with him. 

The nights I camped out that way for late-night research, like I mentioned in my last letter, I could see his shadow dancing around the edges of the firelight all evening; and the final morning after I packed up the tent, he trotted halfway to Motostoke behind us, prancing between overgrown weeds and the sprawling roadside brambles loud enough so I couldn’t doubt he was there. 

After all that, it didn’t feel right just to leave, so I set up under a tree for a little while and extended a hand to him. The berries I offered didn’t interest him much—I suspect, now knowing him slightly better, that he stole the bundle the first time for the attention, not the sustenance—but eventually, he let me scratch a finger behind one of his big, beautiful ears. I think that was the moment when he decided to stay with us for good. 

I’ve called him Charming, which he seems to like. Balter has taken a shine to him already, although I suspect partly because of his sleek fur; unlike Tethera, who is patient but far too woolly, and Tatterdemalion, who is far too scruffy and fidgets too much, Charming is perfectly content to sit and let Balter groom his elegant coat until it gleams. It’s nice beyond words to see how they’re slowly becoming friends, all of them. 

I’ve been using today to write up all my findings for Professor Satinash in our favourite cafe, while the family mingle and relax. They’ve helped a lot over the last fortnight (with maybe a slight handwiggle in Tat’s case), so I think we’ll take it easy for a few days before finding our next errand. 

Until next time, all joy to you and yours. 

Yours sincerely, 

Ezra. 

  
  


_Ezra Candlebark.  
34b Carnot Cross,  
Motostoke,  
Galar. _


	11. thoughts on the quarterly, Motostoke

April 9th,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend, 

It is raining again, so heavily that I’ve stayed inside since this morning. Outside my window, the city is a wavering haze of wet shadows; a murky watercolour painting of grey and brick-red, all lined with smudges of charcoal. The smog of the furnaces and the storm above made the air heavy, each mouthful tasting strangely hot and earthy as I took the family out for a quick jog yesterday. 

As small as my room is, it’s been gratifyingly warm. Charming sleeps on my lap as I’m writing to you, with Tatterdemalion curled around my feet as usual. Tethera has the bed and Balter has Tethera. Understandably (and perhaps a little ironically, given her name), Tempest prefers not to be inside at all in such a tiny, stuffy space and has made herself comfortable outside under an awning instead. There’s a pleasant sense of community with everyone right now, which makes my heart light up. 

I wasn’t actually writing to tell you about the weather, however (fascinating as it is, I know). Just this morning, the CCASPA Quarterly arrived in the post and I’ve spent a decent amount of today reading my way eagerly through it, and since I’ve got no-one to talk about it with at present, you are going to be the very lucky recipient of my thoughts! (You’re welcome, by the way). 

The Quarterly is the journal primarily supported by CCASPA—i.e., the Community for the Care and Advocacy of Spectral Pokemon and Allies, in case I’ve only mentioned the acronym before? It’s that organisation I’m registered with; that one Professor Satinash told me about all those years ago when I was first thinking about heading down this research path, if you remember. Their mission overall is to spread awareness and education about some of the more misunderstood and unfamiliar kinds of Pokemon that share our world—specifically, Ghost types, and what we taxonomically refer to as the allies of that type: Dark, Psychic, Poison, and Fairy. 

Which in fact brings me to my point, which is that the inevitable has happened: someone has put forward a paper _yet again_ arguing that Fairy types do not belong under CCASPA’s umbrella of interests and therefore should not receive funding or attention. This happens every few years or so and it is so tiresome. CCASPA’s article is naturally a refutation of that stance but the fact people are still out there—albeit in their dinky little corners with their fingers in their ears—just turns my head. 

Their argument always goes like this: Pokemon of the Fairy persuasion are too well-loved by comparison to the others to be deserving of a space in CCASPA’s mission, and that their presence on CCASPA (and similar) journals and guides could be better used for more resources on Ghost types. There’s also the argument that Fairy types aren’t even “misunderstood” or “unfamiliar,” which is admittedly an even more fringe opinion, but one that comes up from time to time in the field, despite the clear wrongness of it. 

It’s always these same kinds of people espousing these false wisdoms, ones who assume the success of one variety of Pokemon is a reflection on its entire type or who imagine some kind of shortage of resources where they could see the benefits of cooperation. It’s just _silly_. Just because marill and its line are popular and people are comfortable with them doesn’t mean there isn’t work to be done for Pokemon like granbull or mawile still. Likewise, the fact people love chingling and chimecho doesn’t mean Psychic type doesn’t belong with CCASPA, or that we understand Pokemon like beeheeyem or claydol any better. Just nonsense talk, really. Not even to mention how much Fairy have in common with the others more generally, or how many Pokemon share typing of Fairy and another of the allies! 

Anyway, there are a lot of other good articles in this volume, as usual. I’d be happy to recommend you some, if that’s something you’d like? Let me know—although maybe better to wait until my next letter, as I’m heading out of Motostoke tomorrow. Sonia shot me a message yesterday to meet her in Turffield and I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, so I’m going to catch the underground rail west. Apparently it’s mainly for moving ore and other materials from the western mines to Motostoke’s engines and refineries, but there’s an old train that runs once a day in each direction between all that, which is lucky for me, because otherwise it’d be quite a hike north! 

I hope you’re doing well and I’ll let you know once I’ve got a regular postal address again. I so look forward to your letters. I read out the last one to the family, so please feel free to say hello next time you write! I know that Balter will enjoy that (and I suspect the rest will too). Take care. 

Yours in defense of Fairy types, 

Ezra. 

  
  


_Ezra Candlebark.  
_ _34b Carnot Cross,_  
_Motostoke,  
Galar_.


	12. the Crook & Thornbush Inn, Turffield

April 10th,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend, 

Arrived safely in Turffield, as I’m sure comes as no surprise to you. The underground rail trip this morning was uneventful, if gloomy. There’s only the occasionally lamp down there in the tunnel, so once in a while, you’d get a good look at a rough stone wall to break up the monotony of darkness, but it’s still not much to see. I read for most of the journey, going back through the Quarterly to reread my favourite articles. 

Turffield, however, is utterly delightful. I didn’t realise how much I was missing Postwick until I stepped out of the station into the sunlight and saw  _ green,  _ great rolling hills of it on every side. There’s a quaintness to Turffield that reminds me of course of Wedgehurst and Postwick, but it’s also very much its own place. For lack of a better word, the land here is less tamed: there are more trees, for one thing, growing mostly wherever they like, scattered over the hills and between houses, nearly all of them sharp pines and other conifers standing dark and tall like watchful guardians; and wild-looking bushes and brambles flourish along many of the town’s lengthy pathways. 

Which is another difference: Turffield is  _ much _ larger than the other two, and its township sprawls and paths meander in a way Postwick and Wedgehurst didn’t. There are so many strange little half-roads here, or long winding ones that slither between the many hills with no particular destination in mind, which explains perfectly the town’s shape; everything has had to find a way to accommodate the great undulations of the landscape. Nevertheless, it’s beautiful, and although I’ve only had a little time today to explore, I am already very fond of this place. I have already seen a few walking tracks that I know the family will love too. 

The hostel I’m staying at here is a marked improvement on the previous spot as well, although I haven’t tested the bed yet. The room itself isn’t huge or anything, but it’s clean with fresh linen and an old patchwork quilt, and there’s a bright, little flower-box of joyful-coloured pansies on the windowsill. I shall have to be careful to keep Tethera from snacking on them, but that shouldn’t be difficult: there’s enough wooloo around outside to keep her preoccupied, I’m sure. Perhaps they can talk about how different the hay tastes, or something like that. Whatever it is wooloo think about. (I wonder, though… would they have different accents, the way the people of Galar do? Do their bleats sound strange to one another? I’ve never thought of that before).

I met with Sonia this evening, at her favourite pub not too far from here. It’s a cozy place called the Crook & Thornbush Inn, with a big fireplace (not lit, on account of the pleasant weather) and a nice ambience. The sign outside has a shepherd’s cane crossed over with brambles, which Sonia told me is a bit of lore from how the pub began. Apparently, so the story goes, a century or more ago a young shepherd was minding the flock but not looking where they were going and got their crook caught in the briars. They pulled and fought with the thorns for as long as they could, but eventually gave up and, rather than head home and explain the lost staff to their family in shame, they built a little shelter next to the briar patch and decided to stay there until they got the staff loose.

When a worried friend came looking some days later, they found the shepherd and the flock sitting by the crook in the brambles, laughing and joking and playing games, and the shepherd said, “We’ll go home tomorrow, come join us for now,” and the scene was so fun and merry that the friend did just that and the two built the house bigger to cover them both from the weather. Each day, a new friend came looking for the shepherd, and would see the shepherd, the flock, and all the previous friends sharing drinks and stories around a fire next to the briars, and would decide to stay as well, adding to the house. In the end, there was enough people to fill a town sitting together next to the thornbush, and all had been having such a good time they had forgotten why they were sitting there at all, except for the shepherd, who now had a house and was surrounded by friends, so they left the crook where it was and turned the place into an inn, so that every visitor from that time on would have somewhere to stay.

I asked Sonia if it was true, but she said that’s not really the point. She explained that she  _ had _ looked into the records herself when she first came across the pub, out of curiosity, and there  _ was  _ someone from a shepherding family on the deed on the building when it was first built--but that the story itself, about  _ how _ it was founded, can’t be traced or proven. A lot of folklore is similar like that: it’s not always about truth, or even often. Some stories are lessons to learn from and some stories are simply part of what it is to belong, the shared identity of a people. A joke isn’t “true,” just like an urban legend isn’t “real”--but both are still a real part of a culture, especially in places where frequent use of written language is a more recent era in history. 

It’s fascinating to hear about the research Sonia does. There’s such a vibrancy in the stories we tell each other, down to the tiniest nursery rhymes for children. We live in a rich, seething stew of stories every day, and barely notice most of the time. What we say, and do, and think, is so much made from this immense invisible patchwork of lore and tradition and fairytale, and whenever I talk with Sonia, it becomes more sharply clear to me that I am a part of that, and not just an observer of it, safely distant and untouched by the long ghostly fingertips of legend and folk belief. 

But, as glad as I am for these moments of awareness, talking to Sonia also calls me to reflect on what _ I’m _ doing with my time. This year of field work is a gift and I’ve been wondering lately if I’ve been using what  _ I  _ have to offer as wisely as she is? What I mean to say is: am I doing enough? Sonia’s manuscript will be finished sometime this year, she thinks, which is wonderful, but  _ I _ don’t have a grand plan like that. I thought I’d travel Galar to see what I can see, and do whatever tasks Professor Satinash needed for her research, and maybe write a paper of my own, but is that enough? If we’re all made of stories, all always making stories, what story am I making? What am I adding to our world? 

I know that’s kind of an odd, existential tangent to go on, sorry! I got a little lost in my thoughts while writing to you. It’s got quite late here, so I really should sign off now and get some sleep. There’s a whole town to explore and Sonia said she’d take me on a little personalised field trip to see some of the geoglyphs in the area, so perhaps we’ll do that tomorrow. Oh, and there’s a gym in Turffield as well, so I’ll be able to start making the most of that season pass in the next few days too. All exciting prospects, which of course you will be hearing about soon. 

Until next time, take care. 

Pensively yours,  
Ezra.

_ Ezra Candlebark.  
The Harefoot Digs hostel.  
9 Shepherd’s Well Lane,  
Turffield,  
Galar. _


	13. earth stories, Turffield

April 12th,  
 _evening_. 

My dear friend,

So much to tell you I hardly know where to begin, so I will start at perhaps the safest of topics: the weather. Rain has swept in again. Not long after I woke this morning, I heard the pattering of it on the roof and sure enough, it has settled in and looks to be staying. The people of Turffield, however, are not at all miserable about the grey skies. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, “April showers bring May flowers,” and if you haven’t, I promise you I’d heard it enough today for us both! The general cheer is unsurprising, of course, given that Turffield and surrounds is almost solely the source of Galar’s major vegetable crops—as well as the livelihood of many florists and botanists—in addition to being a popular location for the Grass type-inclined.

I mentioned the Turffield gym in my last letter, but I think I forgot to tell you its current specialisation—although I’m sure you’ve guessed by now! The gym itself, like all gyms in Galar, is immense, and meticulously upkept. It was somewhat startling to see the stadium for the first time; when the rest of the town is so quaint and in some places quite old, such a shiny, glittering monolith of new architecture seems a little… incongruous. But the town has apparently taken it all in stride and embraced its place in the league with what I’m coming to realise is typical Galarian pride and enthusiasm—at least where the league is concerned. 

It’s still so different to me, the forefront it takes in the minds of just about everyone I’ve talked to so far. (To be entirely fair, I am staying in a hostel, and for the most part, the only other people doing that at this time of year are either gym challengers or the more dedicated league fans). It’s not as if gyms aren’t significant back home—or anywhere else, for that matter (I include Alola here, even though their league is also very different)—but the frenzy here, the _fervor_ for it, is unlike anything I’ve come across. 

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned to you much about the league in Galar yet? I will now, and if I have before, well… you will find some way to forgive eventually, I hope! There is a major league and minor league in this region and the line-up of which gym is in which league shifts and changes each year as certain gyms come into greater strength or refocus their energies elsewhere, since working in the major league is, from what I hear, an especially taxing job for all involved. The eight gyms of the major league compose the league challenge for that season, and every year challengers and fans swarm to those towns and cities to compete or watch the battles. (Always the same towns and cities, mind you, but I’ll tell you about that later).

To compete here, a challenger first needs to get a letter of endorsement, from a recognised gym in either league or some other channel of similar authority. That’s not to say you can’t access the gym facilities and whatnot without that, of course! That would be absurd. The letter is specifically for anyone looking to fight in the big tournaments each gym hosts in the local stadium; it’s meant as a testament of their skill as a trainer, plus their accreditation as far as their training history goes, since you hardly want just any unprepared kid to be able to walk in and challenge a gym leader in front of a thousand or more people. 

As you can imagine, because of that expectation, the level of skill involved and the complexity of strategy is the focus of these competitions, and a major source of the entertainment and excitement factor of spectating. I still don’t know very much about the strategies involved myself, but I’m following along well enough to know when something is impressive. The commentators do help with that, luckily! Not to mention, there’s really no expense spared when it comes to the special effects, various screens, and camera-work; it’s a vastly different life from the unglamorous work of a researcher, that’s for certain. 

Turffield has traditionally been the first gym in the league chain, but all that means is that the gyms here tend to be more accommodating—some could say forgiving—to less experienced challengers. At the moment, the major league representative is the Grass type gym, as I implied before; they’ve apparently held onto the major position for several years now, with the Bug gym comfortably relegated to minor league duties. The current Grass gym leader is Milo and I’ll speak from the heart: I can see why he has so many fans. He’s _lovely_. (I may or may not have gotten his league card from the stadium kiosk as we were leaving).

We being Sonia and I, naturally. We went yesterday to watch a set of matches, since the weather was pleasant and we both had the day free. There’s no roof over the stadium and it’s policy for battles to go ahead regardless of the outside weather, since so many Pokemon have weather-altering abilities anyway, so I likely won’t go again until the rain has ended—which is too bad, since it was _so_ much fun. I’d like to go again at least once before I leave.

But in case you think I’ve been slacking off these last few days, I do want to say that I’ve taken the time to get an education while I’m staying here too! Sonia actually took me for a wander to visit the oldest known parts of Turffield yesterday too. It’s not her area of research, exactly, but she’s familiar enough with the place to have given me more or less my own guided tour of the local stones, with a history-anthropology lesson thrown in. 

Like (I would imagine) most people, the only thing I knew about Turffield before I arrived in Galar was its ancient geoglyphs. This part of the world is also known as the Chalk by the people who live here, given that much of the earth below the turf is pure chalk: all soft white limestone, made of the crushed shells and bones of sea creatures from times long ago. Ancient people cut the turf away to create what are now called “hill figures,” huge images made by enormous visible veins of chalk in the hillsides and fields. The Turffield Sky Giant (also known as the Turffield Grand Geoglyph) is the largest in the entire Galar region.

The Sky Giant glyph is an unexpectedly short walk from the town centre, and the path is dotted along the way with standing stones—or _menhir_ , as they’re called—although many are technically runestones: menhir that have been carved with runes or other inscriptions. Sonia tells me there’s a lot of discussion and debate about what these stones mean, or used to mean, but the general consensus is that they marked places of significance, possibly places of learning or blessing. The three best studied runestones have clearly inscribed “water,” “fire,” and what has been translated as “grass” (or “sward”), and several scholars apparently believe each to mark the place where people would go to pay respect or to be taught about the element.

However, there is still one big mystery in that interpretation, which is why each stone is placed where it is. Sonia tells me others have argued that the stones actually marked places to _battle_ , not quiet educational shrines, because the fire runestone is placed directly beside the river that passes through the western edge of Turffield, which would have meant an easy solution to any stray flames. 

Since I am not a historian or geologist or linguist or anthropologist, I don’t have any particular confidence in my opinion on this matter, but I admit that does make some amount of sense. Throughout my studies, I have heard of old traditions in the world where battles were expected to only be between Pokemon of the same type, because it was considered the true test of skill, and true evidence of it, to beat a peer in battle. In those places, it was unheard of to battle the way we do these days, as using advantageous type match-ups seemed dishonorable, even cowardly, to them. Quite a lot like when a kid on the playground smugly says “fire” in a game of scissors, paper, rock: it’s not in the spirit of the game. Perhaps in ancient Turffield, that’s how they saw it too. 

In any case, it was a pleasure to get to see these sites for myself, especially with Sonia as a guide. She’s leaving tomorrow morning to work more on her manuscript back at home, which means it’s high time for me to dedicate my days to my own research again. To the near south of Turffield, there’s a series of cave systems linked to and surrounding the mine, which sounds to me to be the ideal habitat for sableye, so I’m going to start there and see what I can discover about the area. It could be a great first paper for my year of fieldwork. 

Wish me luck!

Yours in enthusiasm, 

Ezra. 

  
  


_Ezra Candlebark.  
_ _The Harefoot Digs hostel.  
_ _9 Shepherd’s Well Lane,_  
 _Turffield,  
Galar._


	14. a startling absence, Turffield

April 21th, _  
midday._

My dear friend,

I’m sure you’ve been wondering what happened to me these last few days, and I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark for so long. I hope the eerie silence didn’t worry you—although, as I write it, I realise the lie accidentally folded into the words, for the regrettable truth is that there _is_ certainly _something_ to worry about: it is what’s consumed my time since my journey into the caves. 

My last week has been spent in feverish research, trying to find an explanation for what I discovered—or perhaps better said, what was missing—in that place. But I should begin at the beginning. 

In my last letter, I told you of the network of caves around the eastern-most mine system of Galar; it is one of two major mines in the region, both of which flank either side of Motostoke and are responsible for keeping the city supplemented with the minerals and fuel it needs to thrive as Galar’s centre of industry. I had planned on exploring some of the more accessible outer caves to document the local sableye population, with the potential to turn those notes into the first paper of my fieldwork year. 

When I arrived, I was struck by the _sound_ ; I had expected the quiet scurrying of dark-loving creatures, the dripping of unseen water, the echo of my own footsteps down long narrow tunnels. Instead, the caves rumbled and whined with the far-off whirr of machines and the groan of rocks clattering and shifting, all amplified in the chambers of the earth. It was not peaceful, as I had expected, and certainly not sacred—but it was empty. I walked many paths through the caves in respectful caution, as I’ve been taught to do throughout my studies, but very few creatures allowed themselves to be seen and it became quickly apparent to me, accompanied by a cold kind of horror, that whatever ecosystem once filled this place has dwindled, nearly gone.

I searched all day and into the night, but there are no sableye left. There’s none of the usual signs of their activity—no claw-marks in the walls, no soft chattering from the shadows, no gleam of curious gemstone eyes in the lamplight. I can only imagine that the disruptions of mining have driven them away, but I don’t know where they would have gone. 

This is particularly concerning, because Galar has four recognised endemic subspecies of Sableye, one of which is said _only_ to live in this network of caverns. As soon as I returned to my hostel that night, I got to work getting my hands on a copy of Professor Ann Myrrh’s book, which the Wedgehurst Research Centre luckily had tucked away on a back shelf somewhere. It’s called _Gremstones: The Essential Sableye Companion_ (I have an old copy at home, which is by now a bit battered from use) and it is by far the most comprehensive work on sableye, covering every known subspecies across all regions of the world. 

As I said before, Galar is known for four of these: the Hulbury beachcomber, the henge-dweller, the rare Wyndon gargoyle, and the _murrha_ or Turffield spar. It is that last one that was documented living right here, in the eastern mines of the region. In _Gremstones_ , it’s written that there was a thriving colony in this place when Professor Myrrh visited for her research, and that was only just over fifty years ago. There’s detailed descriptions too, and sketches of them. 

I’ve never seen one in person before myself, but they’re similar in size and body shape to the Hoenn variety (although in general a little smaller and thinner, it seems) and have a bluer sheen to their skin. Most striking, notes Professor Myrrh, is the gemstones of their eyes with their distinct rings of blue and yellow, which comes from their unique food source: the veins of Blue John fluorite found in the area’s caves. Over the last week, I looked through old archives and asked around, and from what I could find, there’s not a lot of attention been paid to these sableye in a long time. Last I could find was a brief overview by the mine just under a decade ago, saying there was no cause for alarm. 

Needless to say, I am not sure due diligence was done then, or is being done now. And that isn’t all that’s wrong in these caves. On my few sweeps of the place, I tried to keep a record of all the local pokemon I came across, and it seems like the woobat population has also plummeted. I did find a few fluttering through the tunnels, but as you probably know, woobat aren’t known for living in small numbers: they’re a social line and their colonies tend to be teeming, enough to fill proper caverns. It was strange to see so few of them—and on my final visit to the caves, I actually found one that had been injured somehow. 

I suspect it was the reverberations of the mining that threw off his sonar and caused him to crash, because I found him passed out in one of the smaller caverns, with one wing crumpled quite badly. I scooped him up and ran him all the way to the centre in town, in the hope that they could do something for him. It’s been three days since then, but the nurse has told me that it looks as if he’ll make a full recovery... eventually. 

They’re not sure when, or even if, he’ll be able to be rereleased, though. I’ve been checking in each day, so I’ll keep you updated on how he’s going, and I don’t think I’ll be leaving Turffield until I’ve got some more answers about what’s been going on here. Something really isn’t right. 

Until I write again, take care. 

Yours disquieted, 

Ezra.

_Ezra Candlebark.  
The Harefoot Digs hostel.  
9 Shepherd’s Well Lane,  
Turffield,  
Galar. _


	15. recovery, Turffield

April 24th,    
_afternoon_. 

My dear friend, 

I have some good news, and some news that is less excellent. The good news first: the woobat I rescued from the cave is recovering well! He’s alert and eating, and although he’s not able to fly because of his wing just yet, he should be able to get aloft again soon. 

That’s where the less great news begins: he can’t be returned to the caves—or at least, not yet, according to the nurses I’ve spoken to. They want him to have some time under observation while he heals and need to make sure he’ll be able to fend for himself once released before he can be taken home again, which I think is very reasonable. Because of challenge season, though, the medical centre here in Turffield is pretty much at capacity—and besides, their centre isn’t really set up for that kind of long-term care at the best of times. 

Instead, they’re going to contact a shelter some way to the west, a place called Wide Guard Refuge. It’s an organisation dedicated to rehabilitating pokemon, as well as taking in pokemon that have been abandoned or mistreated, and the space acts as a home and nursery for these pokemon until they’re ready to return to the wild or are adopted into new families. I’ve offered to take this woobat there myself, since I’ll be going past anyway. 

Which brings me to some other news: I’ve decided over the last few days that I need to head to Hulbury to investigate the mine south of there as well. I want to know if the situation there is the same as it is here, because if it is, that bodes even worse than I thought. I’ve been trying to piece together the documented sightings of sableye south of Turffield over the years, to get a sense of when they started to vanish, but it’s difficult work, given how reclusive they are to begin with. From what I can gather, there’s been a particularly noticeable decrease in sightings starting about twenty to thirty years ago but what I’ve not been able to figure out so far is why. The mines themselves are considerably older than thirty years, so it can’t be the  _ existence _ of the mine system that has driven them away, or at least I don’t think so. 

Whatever the reason, my plan is to catch one of outbound coaches that cross from Turffield to Hulbury early morning the day after tomorrow—and drop off this little woobat on the way, since there’s a few rest stops on the passage, with the first of them being the Refuge. The coaches themselves are one of only a few ways across the divide in a timely manner: walking can apparently take several days, and the sky taxi—while  _ very _ fast and far-reaching—is not great if you’re afraid of heights or looking to take much luggage with you, so unless you manage to hitch a ride on one of the few automobiles that help haul produce and other goods between the two towns, the coaches are your best bet. Or cycling, I suppose, which I’ve heard some people enjoy doing across this stretch of Galar, especially considering how flat the countryside is either side of the bridge, but I’ll pass on that myself; I’d much rather relax and watch the fields go by. 

Until it’s time to leave Turffield, the family and I will be spending some proper time together while we’re still in this beautiful place; in the hurlyburly of this last week or so, they’ve been a bit neglected while I tried to find more information on this peculiar discovery—but I will say this: they’ve taken it in stride, for the most part. Tethera didn’t really notice anything, I think; as far as she’s concerned, it’s been a nice stay of eating grass and butting heads with the local wooloo, and Tempest makes a lot of her own fun as well, swooping and soaring on the breeze to strengthen her wing muscles—or else cheekily causing a little trouble (which I caught her doing a couple of times!) by plucking the tails of the rest of the family when they didn’t expect it or dropping things on them from above (most egregiously, a hat, which she stole from somewhere and which Tethera then ate before I could stop her). 

Tat and Charming keep each other busy, being both as silly and energetic as each other: they race up and down the hedges, pouncing out of nowhere to spook the other before sprinting away, and they play-fight often. It’s nice to see them both getting on so well and having fun, and admittedly assuages some of the guilt I’ve felt for having so little time for them this week, apart from a walk each morning and the usual grooming and play before bed. Balter has needed by far the most attention, but that’s to be expected: being such a curious, engaged little creature, he’s always interested in whatever’s going on and wants to be as among it as possible. 

While I was exploring the caves, he was actually very helpful, sitting on my shoulder and holding the lamp for me now and then, and he doesn’t try to take my papers and books while I’m using them anymore, which is an improvement! Partly I think this success comes from the fact I’ve started giving him his own bit of parchment and a pencil, and sometimes he even copies me—much like they say,  _ grookey see, grookey do _ . It’s always scribbles, of course, but he seems to like doing it, and it stops him from getting too bored when I’ve got to make notes or, like right now, write letters.

That said, I’ll have to end this one here: he’s starting to pull on my sleeve and chitter away, which means it’s time for me to find something new for him to do or  _ he’ll _ find something that maybe I’d prefer he _ didn’t _ do. 

Until next time, take care! I’ll write again soon.

Yours,

Ezra. 

_Ezra Candlebark.  
The Harefoot Digs hostel.  
9 Shepherd’s Well Lane,  
Turffield,  
Galar._


	16. roll the chariot, Turffield

April 25th,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend,

Everything is packed and ready for the next leg of the journey—from the rolling hills of Turffield to the seasprayed coast of Hulbury! I’ll be stopping briefly by the Wide Guard Refuge tomorrow to leave the woobat I found in the capable and caring hands of the volunteers and staff there, and then the family and I will travel further on, reaching the seaside town by sunset. I got my ticket for the east-bound coach this afternoon and once I finish this letter, it’ll be to bed for me: the carriage leaves just about on dawn and I don’t want to sleep in and miss it. 

I’ll be able to leave this letter for you when I get to the coach-house too, since the post office is right next door. Besides moving people and luggage from place to place every day, the coaches also bring parcels and mail between the towns, so I suppose it makes sense for the two to work hand-in-hand as they do. I had a good look around the coach-house and yards when I was fetching my ticket today and I have to say, I’m excited for this day out! 

The coaches themselves are _huge_ : able to comfortably carry over a dozen passengers, as well as their luggage, the coach-driver, the attendant (an additional driver, much like the first-mate on a ship), and that day’s post. They’re built in the old Kalosian _charabanc_ style, but with some pleasantly contemporary features: several rows of seats inside the carriage, thankfully lined with a plush fabric rather than the austere wooden seats of the first designs; shiny, fresh-painted outer panelling, clearly well-washed and often tended; and a solid roof overhead and glass windows to protect from the elements, as the coaches travel their many-hour journey regardless of weather, so I’ve been told. On the roof, there’s even a wrought metal rack for storing bicycles and to act as perches for Flying type pokemon to rest. 

Of course, for as well-maintained and beautiful the carriages are, none of it would be possible without the mudsdale that pull them! It only takes one of these immense, placid pokemon to haul the entire thing from one town to the other in about eight hours, not counting the few short rest stops along the road—which are for the benefit of the _passengers’_ comfort and not the pokemon, mind you, as a mudsdale can apparently travel quite happily without resting for the entire stretch, according to a handler I spoke with today. It’s a mind-bending feat of strength and endurance, but these pokemon take it—quite literally—in stride and with evident pleasure, as I can tell you from personal experience that it’s impossible to get one to do _anything_ it doesn’t want to. 

It’s commonly said they can pull ten tonnes for three days and three nights without rest and while I suspect this is maybe a little speculative and possibly not accurate (and I don’t think ever actually tested), it’s certainly true that they’re almost unmatched on land when it comes to sheer stamina. The ability to travel long distances in search of new pasture or fresh water is a significant advantage for mudsdale in their natural habitats, and means that regularly crossing dry or even desert environments pose very little hardship for them. Compared to that, a stroll from Turffield to Hulbury probably _is_ nothing more than a bit of exercise and a change of scenery! 

It’s fortunate that the mudsdale are so willing to help, especially considering it would take _me_ several days to do that walk. And it means that I can take in the view properly as we go, which I’m excited to do, since this path is historic in the most literal sense.

A section of the route—probably _the_ most famous section—passes over the Sovereign Concord Bridge, the longest (and tallest) bridge in the Galar region, also sometimes called the Amity Bridge. It was built over six centuries ago to connect the two sides of Galar, and before its construction, it could take several _weeks_ to reach Hulbury from Turffield on foot—and that required passage down the narrow cliff road, through the wilderness, and up the cliff on the other side. And if one wanted to avoid _that_ treacherous journey (which is understandable!), the only alternative was to travel to Motostoke and cross the even older bridge to the east of the city. 

For most of Galar’s history before the advent of the underground railway, resources from Turffield and surrounds were ferried down the river to the Motostoke waterway, and then sent on to Hulbury by cart. The bridge, and then later the railway, changed everything for the people living here. It’ll be incredible to pass over a piece of lasting history like that, knowing that countless other people have done the same thing for over half a millennium. It’s a pity that only Tempest will be able to see it (the rest of the family have to stored for the trip), but who knows—we might come back this way again another time. 

It’s getting late now, and I should really rest or else I might fall asleep in the carriage, so I’ll say good night. I’ll write to you again soon to let you know my new postal address once I’m settled in Hulbury. Until then, look after yourself. 

Yours passing through antiquity, 

Ezra.

_Ezra Candlebark.  
The Harefoot Digs hostel.  
9 Shepherd’s Well Lane,  
Turffield,  
Galar. _


	17. community service, Wide Guard Refuge

May 3rd,  
_evening_. 

My dear friend,  
  
I know you expected this letter sooner, but sometimes life gets away from you! It’s been a busy week, although not in the way I intended. I had planned on travelling directly from Turffield to Hulbury, with a quick stop at Wide Guard Refuge to deliver the woobat I found last week. But as you can probably guess, it turned into a considerably longer stay than that! 

The Wide Guard Refuge is the first of a few rest stops the Turffield-to-Hulbury coach takes on its journey, usually waiting there about a half hour to let passengers and pokemon alike stretch their legs before resuming another few hours of travel--and it’s clear there’s a pleasant symbiotic relationship between the refuge and the coaches, even from a first glance. The waiting bay had a couple of water troughs freshly filled when we arrived, and a parcel of post ready and waiting to be loaded onto the carriage. 

Most interestingly, though--or at least so I found--was the large wooden sign, evidently placed for the benefit of these brief visitors, outside the entrance to the refuge, explaining their twofold mission: the rehabilitation and release of injured wild pokemon; and the permanent care of those pokemon unable to be returned to the wild or adopted into homes. 

Admittedly, it was the final note that really caught my eye: _volunteers always welcome_. I’m sure you can guess how this goes. 

While everyone else milled around outside enjoying the pleasant weather, I went in to find someone I could present the little woobat to, and that’s when I met Aoife Lockley. She’s one of the most senior caretakers of Wide Guard Refuge, having worked there in some capacity or another for over thirty years--and with no sight of stopping soon, even though she’s in at least her seventies, from what I can tell. She was happy to walk me through the refuge on her way to take a hay bale to some of the “guests”, as she likes to call them, and we talked a little about her work, and my work, and the general goals and purpose of Wide Guard. 

I’ll admit, by the time I passed her Winnie to take a look at, I was already hoping to stay, and so when Aoife mentioned that woobat fare better in recovery if they have a consistent carer and he seemed to have already taken a little shine to me, I was delighted and got my things from the luggage hold at once. 

Although from the road Wide Guard Refuge looks like a single old stone house surrounded by dark conifers, once you head through and beyond you can see that it’s more similar to its own little village. There are several buildings, most of which are also made of old stone and timber, worn-down by the weather and much-mended over the years, and between them there are paddocks and barns and even a large pond constructed a long time ago to more comfortably house aquatic and amphibious species. Much of that first day was spent getting acquainted with the estate--the mess hall, the dormitory, the hospice--and of course my fellow volunteers and caretakers, and the many creatures in their care. 

According to Aoife, Wide Guard is never not in need of volunteers. Although there’s a frequent stream of young pokemon nurses and rangers coming to the refuge seeking experience, only a few of them stay on beyond their allotted season, and there always seems to be more hands needed than are ever available. Their sister sanctuary, King’s Shield Clinic & Shelter, located directly in Galar’s wilderness, experiences similar shortages from time to time, especially given the additional pressure of exploring trainers requiring their services. Nevertheless, they do their best, which is really all anyone can do. 

Wide Guard Refuge for the most part specialises in smaller and more urban pokemon species, particularly those that have been abandoned or neglected, and prioritises adoption into human families where possible; in comparison, King’s Shield Clinic & Shelter (as you might expect) focuses primarily on rehabilitation and release of wild pokemon brought in from up and down the wilderness. That said, there was still a surprising range of pokemon resting and recovering at the refuge, including (but certainly not limited to) a chewtle with a newly affixed fibreglass half-shell; a standoffish stunky; a rambunctious zigzagoon who thought his name was “No”, having heard it so much in his youth, and responded to nothing else; several magikarp splashing in the pond; a badly scuffed scraggy recovered from several too many fights; and--most memorably--a very large, blind, old arcanine affectionately referred to as Mags, who had been living there for many years and had made it her home. 

And speaking of homes, I should probably mention that Winnie--that woobat I found--is making his with us, at Aoife’s suggestion! His wing isn’t fully mended yet, but he’s doing much better than he was, and after a week of looking after him at Wide Guard, I became pretty attached. I’ve called him Winsome (Winnie for short).

This letter, predictably, has become much longer than I expected, and I’ve only told you some of my busy week at Wide Guard--but that’ll have to do for now, I’m afraid. I’m writing you from Hulbury this evening, after arriving by carriage late this afternoon, and I’ve got to rest myself soon, because there’s always more work to undertake: one of these nights I’ll be heading out late to look for one of Galar’s endemic sableye subspecies, the Hulbury beachcomber. 

Let’s hope I’m more successful than I was exploring the Turffield mine-caves. 

  
Yours exhausted, but hopeful,

Ezra. 

  
_Ezra Candlebark._  
_The Mariner’s Lamp Hostel._  
_851 Starview Crescent,_  
_Hulbury,_  
_Galar._


	18. somewhere beside the sea, Hulbury

May 5th, _morning_.  
  
  


My dear friend, 

As you might have noticed by now, I’ve fallen into a habit with these beautiful towns and cities I’m visiting. Although I am here with an important goal in mind--and we’ll get to that soon—it’s hard to resist the call to adventure, or at least a little look around, once I’ve thrown down my bag in the local hostel. So yesterday I spent my first day in Hulbury wandering the sloping streets and enjoying the seaside air, before I get down to the business of proper respectable research, which is what I’m meant to be doing. 

Hulbury is an interesting beast of a place: it’s only a town by technical standards, but it’s also arguably (although I wouldn’t know who’d argue against it) one of the most significant settlements in all of Galar. It’s the most established port in the region, for one thing, and the first to receive and send trade with other regions, many years ago, which makes it the oldest international port town in these waters. As you can imagine, such a long history of trade and tour from other regions means that Hulbury is quite unique in the sheer diversity of its population and the marvellous complexity of its culture.

There’s an ever ebb-and-flow of people arriving and leaving the town by sea, and walking along the ancient docks, you can hear conversations in a dozen languages, and the hearty, solid beat of shanty song from the departing ships drifting towards the bay’s horizon. There’s a lot of unusual pokemon here too: strangers from far away places, travelling with sailors and fishers and the remaining descendants of the royal privateers—a remnant from a far wilder time in the history of Galar. 

Balter rode on my shoulder as I meandered throughout the town, chittering and peering with usual excitement and curiosity at the bustle of the high street and the docks. The rest of the family, apart from Tempest (who has been both quite independent and ambitious with her flying of late, I will add), were left to repose in my pocket, as I was afeared of some of them causing a ruckus underfoot—I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who. Winnie, although not troublesome at all, was left with them too, as he’s still recovering and, being a woobat, prefers the dark anyway, which is excellent luck as it will be nice to have company for the upcoming night shifts I will be pulling on the beaches in the next week. 

I’m planning to sleep today myself, as much as I can, and begin work tonight. According to Professor Ann Myrrh’s book, the sableye I’m seeking is unusual in several ways to the common sableye, but its habits regarding sunlight are much the same: it avoids harsh, direct light, and waits for night to fall before it descends to the shore. I’ve got my hands on a torch and if you tie a rag over the lamp, it should reduce the intensity of the light, which is important not to frighten them off—if they are even there, of course. After the mines south of Turffield, I’m more than a little concerned that the same is happening here, as Hulbury is also only slightly north of the other major mine system of this region. The sableye here might have vanished as well… but there’s only one way to find out. 

I’ve got some good boots and a big coat, as the wind off the sea can be fierce at night, and some of the family will be with me, so let’s hope for good news when I write to you next. Until then, take care. 

Yours, soon-to-be nocturnally, 

Ezra. 

_Ezra Candlebark._   
_The Mariner’s Lamp Hostel._   
_851 Starview Crescent,_   
_Hulbury,_   
_Galar._


	19. beach-combing, Hulbury

May 13th, _afternoon_.  
  
  


My dear friend, 

There is some good news, but I’m afraid it’s not uncomplicated. The short of it is: I found some of the sableye from Professor Myrrh’s book. But not many. It seems like what I feared is close to the truth: the mines here have been disturbed quite badly as well, and the sableye population is far from thriving because of it. 

The first few days of my surveying of the beach were uneventful, and cold. There’s no real beaches beside Hulbury, only wooden docks over the ocean, so I travelled each night further south to where the shore began and spent all hours from sunset to sunrise walking the rough sand, listening to the crash and hiss of waves, and hoping. I’d read Professor Myrrh’s passages on the Hulbury beachcomber several times over before I headed off, to prepare as best as I could. 

Like I said in my last letter, they’re a peculiar creature, even among sableye subspecies. Where most sableye varieties won’t ever leave the safety and familiarity of their caves, the Hulbury beachcomber regularly leaves the nearby cave system to scour the beach and surrounds—hence their name. They search for driftwood and shells to supplement their usual troglodytic diet, presumably for rare minerals and vitamins that they otherwise can’t access, and they particularly hunt for amber, which is known to wash up on only these shores in Galar. Unlike the glossy, golden amber that features in jewellery, this unpolished raw amber looks quite dull: a grubby orange-brown in colour, hardly distinguishable from any other sea-stone. But the Hulbury beachcomber is an expert in spotting it on the sand. 

They’re also well-built for the work. Like all sableye, their hands are long and nimble, their claws powerful and sharp, and they quickly sift through sand and snatch up anything of value. Professor Myrrh even wrote that she saw some especially brave and ingenious ones risking the waves to seek out shellfish to crack open, looking for pearls and a snack along the way. Where the _murrha_ variety near Turffield are bluer and smaller than the more recognisable common Hoenn kind, the Hulbury beachcomber is lanky and thin, with long legs and arms best suited to travel considerable distances with little effort. Their overall colouration tends to be a sandy grey, with crusting of gleaming pearls, fragments of shell and nacre, and rich golden amber (which the beachcombers will meticulously polish themselves, which is what gives them their distinctive pine resin scent). 

It was that scent that first led me to spotting one, purely by luck of the wind blowing the right direction. By the end of my week, I’d had five sightings--one twice, which made for four beachcombers accounted for. Compared to Professor’s Myrrh’s accounts about fifty years ago, where many nights she could count twenty individuals—sometimes more—this does not bode well for their numbers. Admittedly, my brief study is hardly conclusive, but it is certainly forming _some_ kind of pattern for how the ecology of Galar is changing. The trouble is what to do about it.

There have also been some nice things this long, dark week, though. Winnie is doing well, and seems more active and alert every day—well, _night_. You know what I mean. He isn’t ready to fly again yet, but the exercises I’ve been doing with him to rebuild and strengthen his muscles are already making a difference from what I can tell, and I’m hoping soon he’ll be confident enough to take to the wing again properly. 

And speaking of flying, Tempest is—I _think_ —at a significant turning point, or about to be. During the day while I sleep, I’ve been leaving the diurnal and rowdy side of the family in the care of a fellow researcher-in-training I met at the hostel (in return for some papers on shoaling and an introduction to Professor Padina back home, who’s working in the same field) and it seems that Tempest has spent nearly all her time in flight: soaring on the updraughts from the sea every chance she gets, and generally challenging herself to the point of nigh-exhaustion by the evening. Which sounds to _me_ like perhaps she is about to invoke that most uniquely pokemon of life cycle features. But we shall see! 

I’ve got a few more letters to write this afternoon, and then I think the next few days I’ll try to see more of Hulbury and enjoy my time here a little with the family, before the inevitable next leg of our journey.  
  
Yours, windswept and wonderful, 

Ezra.  
  
  


_Ezra Candlebark._  
_The Mariner’s Lamp Hostel._  
_851 Starview Crescent,_  
_Hulbury,_  
_Galar._


	20. night markets, Hulbury

May 17th, _morning_. 

  
  


My dear friend, 

These last few days have been spent largely according to how the family wanted, which, naturally, meant sampling the various new scents and/or flavours Hulbury has to offer—which suited me just fine, as that was most of what I wanted to do as well! I think a letter or two ago I mentioned (albeit briefly) the history of this town, but I failed to mention the veritable cornucopia of treasures a thriving trade hub such as this amasses daily. And where better to walk among this feast for the eyes—and also, the literal feast—than the famous Hulbury night markets? So last night, we finally went. 

The day markets are every bit as busy, if not more, but the trade there is more commonplace and commercial: the fishmarkets, supplied from that day’s ocean-going ships; the many grocers’, unloading produce from Turffield; the sheafs of wool and spools of yard brought up by canal by the Postwick shepherds—all this and more, moved all over Galar, or packed onto ships to go to other regions. There’s a fruit market, too, bringing berries and other crops that don’t grow in abundance here. It’s the mundane but vital tide of food and goods that keep Galar—and other regions—thriving and well-supplied. 

But the night markets are the glittering, joyous,  _ fun _ side of the trading town, lit by strings of lights and iron lamps, full of smoke and laughter. People throng down the narrow corridors of vendors with tables laid out with all manner of trinkets, crafts, antiques, and rare finds from all over the world, while harkers bellow and hagglers bicker over the noise. It’s said anything can be found in the night markets of Hulbury, and having seen it for myself, I’ll admit I’m halfway convinced it’s true: there’s certainly no lack of variety. 

Tradesfolk congregate here too, from leatherworkers to tailors to artisans of all kinds, and of course merchants, as many as you could want. Although that said, who’s there changes all the time, from what I’ve heard: from one week to the next, people arrive and people leave, and the looping labyrinth of the marketplace is never quite the same twice. I think for many that’s part of the fun. 

For me, personally, I think I most enjoyed soaking it in and fossicking for this and that whenever a stall caught my eye. There wasn’t anything in particular I was searching for—but that doesn’t mean I left with nothing! I got something for each of the family, as a little gift. For Balter, a small bag full of rare berries and nuts, all of them shelled and difficult to get into—it should give him something to do with his naughty little hands. And for Tat, I got her an already quite ragged doll to toss about and chew on (which I hope will last longer than a day). For Charming and Tethera, I got similar gifts: a delicate necklace of local shells for Charming, and a little silk scarf from far away for Tethera. Winsome was extremely easy to please: a basket of fruit was very well received! 

But Tempest was by far the most difficult to find for. She’s keen and discerning, independent and clever, and doesn’t actually want much. In the end, after a few hours of meandering the market alleys, I found an interesting pair of rings, which she seemed to like and repurposed as ankle bands. As for  _ me _ , I’m trying to travel light as much as possible, so I had to hold back—but in the books section, I admit to a moment of weakness and I got myself an old, dinged up copy of  _ World Builders: the earthmovers and shakers that shape the land we live on _ , edited by M. Nyembezi and Indira Bhave, instead. 

It’s an enormous book, which is fitting, since it documents and discusses extensively a vast number of ground, rock, and ice type pokemon, as well as others that leave indelible marks on this planet. It’s very much the opposite of what I should be carting with me on this journey, but the way I figure, it’ll cover my reading for pretty much all of the summer—which leads me (in a roundabout kind of way) to where we’re going next. 

I’ll stay a few more days in Hulbury, maybe see if I can get some mileage out of season pass at the local gym, and then head south by train back to Wedgehurst. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I feel it’s nearly time for me to take my research to the Galar’s wilderness. But of course that requires sensible planning first, so I won’t be rushing off just yet, I promise! 

Impulsively (but not  _ too _ impulsively) yours,   
Ezra. 

  
  
_ Ezra Candlebark. _ _   
_ _ The Mariner’s Lamp Hostel. _ _   
_ _ 851 Starview Crescent, _ __   
_ Hulbury, _ _   
_ __ Galar.


	21. soaring at first light, Hulbury

May 22nd, _afternoon_. 

My dear friend, 

The sea air is doing us all some good, I’m sure. Each morning, bright and early, I’ve been getting up and walking down from my hostel on the hill through the waking town of Hulbury to the boardwalk along the shore, just in time to watch the sun rising over the ocean. The crests of the waves glow like fire in the new light, gleaming orange and red on a burnt umber swell—and then dawn properly breaks and colour returns to the world. By the time I reach the guardian statues of the lighthouse, the sun is above the horizon and the sky is turning its usual cloudy blue, all traces of blood-red water gone.

Of course, I’m far from the only one awake at that time: Motostoke might be the city forever awake, but Hulbury is the town of early risers. The docks are busy even before first light, and the murmur of shopfronts setting up starts as soon as the night lamps are extinguished—especially close to the sea, where sailors and travellers are often loitering and looking for breakfast and a strong hot drink. And the pokemon here wake early too: every morning as the rest of the coast begins stirring, flocks of shrill-voiced wingull catch the air currents coming off the sea to soar over the docks, looking for easy pickings to steal and scoff before another wingull swoops in to do the same. 

Tempest in particular has been enjoying these brisk dawn strolls, eager to stretch her new wings—and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what I mean by that! As I had suspected, her recent exertions were driven by a powerful desire to strengthen and grow, and about three days ago, she evolved, shifting her compact body for the far sleeker, more aerially agile shape of a corvisquire! It took her about a day to get the hang of her new, significantly heavier and larger circumstances, but she’s now perfectly at ease both on the ground and in the air—although admittedly, it’s taken _me_ some getting used to when she lands on my shoulder. The first time she tried it, she nearly knocked me clean over; I was so used to her being much, much smaller and lighter. 

She flies gleefully over the water each morning and challenges wingull to races and tests of agility, wheeling over the waves and imitating how they glide, barely flapping at all—or squabbling with them for whatever they’ve managed to steal from the sailors’ cargo. She’s been famished ever since she evolved, naturally: I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much energy such an enormous, rapid transformation and growth spurt burns. The few days before it happened, she ate just about everything she could get to—bad news for Winnie, who lost some fruit from his basket before I realised what was happening—and she’s been doing much the same since, although I expect in another day or two that’ll lessen (and I’m sure the local wingull will be thrilled about that, given how much fish she’s bullied off them).

As I’m sure you can guess, I’m both very proud and touched about her evolution. It’s a known fact that pokemon that get to benefit from human care tend to evolve more often or faster than their wild peers, but it’s still a nice feeling to know I’ve played a part—however little—in her life’s journey. I don’t know as much about corvisquire and its line as I’d like—but, thankfully, Sonia does and I’ll be seeing her soon, as I’m about to pack my bags and head back to Wedgehurst for a brief visit!

After my observations on the beach, I’ve written quite a few letters to friends and colleagues, trying to figure out what to do about these findings. I’ve been waiting to hear back from everyone before making a plan and going ahead with what I’ve got in mind, and Sonia suggested we catch up before I embark on the next leg of my travels into the wilderness. There’s a train that winds from Hulbury to Wedgehurst—the same train line that arcs around the west of the wilderness, actually, just in the other direction—and should get us there by tomorrow morning. 

And on that note, I should really scoop up what’s left of my things and get the family ready to travel! I’ll write to you again soon.

Until next time,   
Ezra.

  
  
_Ezra Candlebark.  
The Mariner’s Lamp Hostel.  
851 Starview Crescent,  
Hulbury,  
Galar. _


	22. researchers reunited, Wedgehurst

May 25th, _morning_. 

My dear friend, 

The train trip back to Wedgehurst was expectedly uneventful, but if I’m honest with you, I was glad for the rest: lately it’s felt like every day is busier than the last. Yesterday with Sonia was a brief and lovely reprieve, but after I’m done writing to you this morning, all the work and scurrying begins again. There’s some last-minute preparation left to do, and then the family and I will be jumping once more aboard the train--but this time, to worlds unknown… or at least less known than those visited so far! But that’s a letter for the future.

It’s been really wonderful to wander through Wedgehurst again. Not for any particular reason, except that I grew so fond of it during my stay here. Once again, Sonia has been able to put us up for a few nights at the research lab in the high street, and the family have been enjoying their time strolling the familiar lanes and fields around the town--or flying, as is the case for Tempest and, even more exciting, Winnie! 

These past few weeks of wing exercises have gotten his confidence up and his muscles strengthened enough that in the last handful of days he’s started taking flight now and then. He only flutters briefly and never far from me, very quick still to grip back onto my jacket or shirt and cling, but it’s a great start. Tempest and Balter are particularly interested in his progress, in their own ways: Tempest encourages him to join her in the air, flying below or beside him; and Balter is quick to comfort and cuddle him when he lands again, grooming his soft fur immediately. It’s incredibly sweet, and I think much of Winnie’s recovery can be attributed to their support as much as mine. 

Sonia is doing well too. Her manuscript is growing in fits and bursts, as they do, but she’s still on track with her work, which is really all any researcher-in-training hopes to be. We caught up over tea and cake in a little cafe in town, while her yamper and Tat wrestled vigorously and played under our feet.

And speaking of Sonia--the little mystery of why she was so hounding me to visit Hulbury’s league has been solved! I don’t think I mentioned it before, but she was very insistent that I see at least one match while I stayed in the town, and I assumed it was just enthusiasm--or maybe guilt--since it was she had convinced me to get the season pass, after all. But in fact, no: it was favouritism, as yesterday I discovered that the gym leader of Hulbury is a very good friend of hers. 

Exactly what  _ kind _ of friend I maybe shouldn’t speculate--(but between you and I, I suspect she is maybe a _ little _ special, given how Sonia lights up at the mere mention of her). Her name is Nessa, and don’t get me wrong: I understand why Sonia might feel a certain kind of way. I did end up catching a few matches on my less busy afternoons in Hulbury and Nessa is undoubtedly  _ very _ impressive, from her cool and collected demeanour, to her enviable skill on the field. She’s also radiant to look at: apparently she’s a model and, between her many responsibilities at the Hulbury gym, somehow still finds time to be involved in an upcoming poster campaign to help educate about Galar’s seas and waterways--which Sonia was only too happy to tell me all about (and I was only too happy to listen). 

The Hulbury gym was a feat of architecture engineering too, if I’m honest with you. To be fair, the Turffield and Motostoke gyms are built very similarly, but there’s something particularly striking about how the Hulbury gym uses water--which is its current (no pun intended) specialisation. The gym has several visible islands of stable land separated by seawater that naturally flows in from the surrounding ocean, but the interesting part is that, because of the motions of the tide throughout the day, more land is revealed--or obscured--at different times. What this means is that the actual landscape of the gym is always in flux, and the morning, midday, and evening experience of the gym’s events are completely unalike. 

Hulbury’s minor league for the last few years since Nessa’s rise to the role of gym leader is dedicated to the Electric type, which arguably plays as much a part in contemporary Hulbury as the ocean itself does for the Water type major league. The grand lighthouse still guides ships safely into port every night, and much of Galar’s power actually comes from the wind turbines and wave power collectors along the east coast, which falls under the purview of Hulbury. I’m not sure how--or if--the gym’s layout changes when the major league representative is Electric type, but it seems that the ocean can be shut out by grates around the rim of the gym, so perhaps that’s how it’s managed. I supposed I’ll just have to come back one day and find out!

Anyway, there’s much to do, so I’d best get back to it. Wish me luck!

Yours, a little enervatedly (but full of joy),   
Ezra. 

  
  


_ Ezra Candlebark,  
Room 7, Research Lab,  
12 High Street,  
Wedgehurst,  
Galar. _


End file.
